Shining Lights
by DaeDreemer
Summary: NB. It's always Serena's name in lights.


**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note**: Pre-show.

* * *

Serena's high on something. So it's not really her fault. She doesn't mean to do it. Blair knows that, Serena never really _means_ to do anything. She wanders around, tall and blonde and smiling and things _happen_.

People fall in love with her, all different sorts of people and all different sorts of love – fondness and affection and awe and lust and maybe even sometimes true (because there _is_ such a thing; she _knows_ there is); teachers and dance instructors and tennis coaches and wannabe-popular-girls and idiotic-calf-eyed boys and parents… all parents (except maybe her own; because that would be too easy).

It's always Serena's name in lights; with her bright giggle and her easy smile— she's just... loved, all the time; even when she's wearing messy clothes or accidentally breaks something or forgets to study for their biology quiz, she's still giggly and tall and… and _endearing_.

And High School isn't turning out to be any different (she'd had hopes; there's nothing wrong with hope). One week in and Serena is already the favorite, again. It doesn't make any sense, because it's Blair that coordinates her outfits fashionably, that knows all the answers in class, that knows all the answers _out_ of class too; she's the one that plans ahead, that does all the work, that _wants_ it— but it's Serena who laughs and says _"I'll have to re-read that section" _and _"I love your nail polish" _with a giggle and toss of her hair before twirling away.

And it's _Serena_ Eleanor is showing Waldorf Designs look-book pages to, it's Serena she's asking about fabrics and accessories and which patterns she likes best—

And Serena's _high_ and Blair just doesn't get it; how nobody sees it, that the giggle is a little too loud and the random spinning a smidge off-center and that she's not even looking at the fabric choices because Serena just wears what's easy and pretty and clean and fits –

All people see is Serena being silly and endearing and liking the tiny polka dots more than the tiny zig-zag's – which really just means she wants Dipping Dots ice cream later.

Blair sighs, shuts her eyes tight; but that doesn't help. Eyes shut and there're the stupid girls from school crowding around her mother and Serena and offering opinions that are just echoes of Serena's _"oh uh-huh sure, that's cute" _even though this party is _Blair's_. She thought of it and planned it and set everything up and Serena is just an invitee not the host (and her mother was supposed to be in Paris; or anywhere far, far away).

They hadn't even noticed; she'd slipped away and they hadn't even noticed. Serena's on something, she reminds herself again, so it's not her fault (there's never exactly _fault_ with Serena anyway; only things that happen) and the blonde had spent most of the night giggling and looking to Blair with slightly glazed eyes and a too excited expression – a quiet _what are you doing? are you okay? _from Blair had garnered her a quick, exuberant hug and an _oh I'm having fun_ - as if this party were fun (although maybe if you were high… or Serena it was).

There's a crash downstairs, loud and metallic, her eyes snap open and she can practically see a clothes wrack crashing to the marble floor; there're shrieks of surprise and then laughter and she doesn't get up. She doesn't move an inch on her bed, stares blankly forward, wonders angrily, petulantly, (dejectedly), if anyone would notice _now_ that she wasn't there (when a mess needed to be cleaned up).

She shuts her eyes again when there's a knock at her door; swallows back the taste of being right.

"Blair?"

It's Nate. She tenses, Nate wouldn't have noticed.

"Hey…" he says, softly from the doorway. Nate _should_ have noticed, boyfriends are supposed to notice those things.

"You okay…?" He asks a little falteringly.

They're supposed to notice when their girlfriends aren't in the room anymore; they're supposed to look at more than just their girlfriend's best friend.

"Serena's looking for you," he adds when she doesn't answer.

Sometimes she wonders if she were the best friend and Serena was the girlfriend would he look—

"Blair."

He calls her name and she opens her eyes, but doesn't move. He still hasn't come into the room.

"Are you okay?" He asks again, voice a little steadier now; a little more worried. "Did something happen downstairs?"

_Serena happened, _she almost says; but she can't. The words never solidify; just smoke in her thoughts – they're unfair; Serena's not thinking clearly and Nate's—

Nate's here.

She lifts her head a little; glances at him, briefly, wordlessly, before laying her cheek against the pillow once more.

"She wants you to come downstairs," Nate continues, back to faltering again, "I think."

Blair purses her lips a little; she will not be summoned.

"Okay… then. I guess… I'll just…"

He's going to leave, back downstairs; to Serena's court. "Stay here," she says softly (be mine).

For a moment she isn't sure he hears her and then, "Wha—? But… the party…" he trails off.

She stares ahead, silently; isn't going to repeat herself.

"Are you okay?" He asks for the third time and takes a step into the room now. "Don't you feel good?"

She licks her lips, corrects faintly, "_Well. _" But she doesn't answer. She's fourteen years old; how old do you have to be before you outgrow jealousy? Before things start getting fair?

"Don't you feel _well? _" He repeats, walks further into the room.

There's a thread of humor in his voice; he's like Serena that way, fast smiles and easy laughter.

She doesn't answer; he says her name again, soft. "Blair…?"

"Sometimes…" she offers quietly, lips barely moving, "It's just…"

He stops at the foot of her bed when she trails off; she senses him there, watching her.

"It's just too much."

He's quiet for a beat and then, "Are you… are you going to go back to the party?"

There's knot of misery inside her, hot and uncomfortable and heavy; the party doesn't need her and she's seen Serena's light enough."No." She pushes the word passed her lips and then she waits for him to leave.

She jumps, startled, when the bed dips; glances over her shoulder as he slides onto the bed behind her, turns onto his shoulder, alongside her. "Okay," he says, mouth moving against the back of her hair.

"Nate…" she swallows hard.

He settles back away from her, cheek on the pillow; one hand against her back, knuckles smoothing slowly, gently. "I'll stay here."

She holds herself very still. "Why?" She asked him to; should that be why?

"I'm not really into… fabric, you know?" He teases her softly, "And Chuck took off with a couple of the girls... so..."

"So why not settle for me?"

His hand pauses its rhythm on her back, "That's not… it's…" he trails off for a moment and then picks up the rhythm again, "It's been— it's been a long week…" he says quietly, "Maybe… too much, too." He touches his nose to her hair, "And this is… nice."

She shuts her eyes and breathes out slowly; makes herself relax, because someone had noticed, right? Serena had… and she'd sent Nate… and together, those two things, those halves, they made one—

Her eyes snap open and she stares across her room, doesn't finish the thought, doesn't say anything; his hand falls still against her back and she feels his breath warm on her neck and she thinks it has to get better, the first week wasn't perfect, but there's still time— her name can still shine in lights too.

* * *

.the end.


End file.
